


But The Ocean's Wide

by geckoholic



Category: Original Work
Genre: Blindfolds, Consensual Kink, Cunnilingus, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/F, Kink Exploration, Light Bondage, Past Rape/Non-con, Prostitution, Under-negotiated Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-13
Updated: 2020-04-13
Packaged: 2021-03-01 22:49:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23634871
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/geckoholic/pseuds/geckoholic
Summary: Lizzie is a call girl on her first job, and her client has a very specific request.
Relationships: Client Hiring Sex Worker For The First Time/Hooker On Her First Out-call, Original Female Character/Original Female Character
Comments: 14
Kudos: 46
Collections: Smut 4 Smut 2020





	But The Ocean's Wide

**Author's Note:**

  * For [anysin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/anysin/gifts).



> Written for the request "I would like to see hurt/comforty stuff where the client has been hurt in a past and is looking for positive experiences with sex, and the sex worker is willing to help". I hope it hits the spot; you put rape recovery in your dnws, but then requested this specifically, so I figured it was okay in this context.
> 
> Beta-read by agentcoop, thank you very much! All remaining mistakes are mine.
> 
> Title is from "One Step Closer" by Jason Walker.

Lizzie keeps glancing towards her cell phone, unsure of what she wants it to do: ring already, or never ring at all. It's not like she's afraid of her first customer. No one forced her into this line of work, and she isn't doing it because of money problems or other such dire straits. She'd been curious, and she made a decision. No, her uncertainty has another reason. 

She's nervous. She's super, super nervous. 

Being a call girl is not a line of work one can practice for or rehearse. Oh, she's had plenty of sexwith plenty of people. She enjoys it, and she likes to think she's good at it – for whatever measure of _good_ one can assign to sexual intercourse. She’d had a number of conversations with her agent about what the costumer might expect, how different their motivations are, and that really, more than amazing sex, the job is about empathy. 

And just this morning, she’d received an email that her agent given Lizzie's profile and number to a client. A woman. Rich, young, single. Nice on first impression, if a bit distant. 

Now it's almost noon, and Lizzie is about to vibrate out of her skin with nerves. 

She sighs. Shakes her head. She'll do her university homework and then get some takeout and a movie. The phone will ring, or it will not. That's out of her control. 

Lizzie is just about to pull her bag from its usual place by the couch when the first notes of an old Roxette song, the painfully outdated but still beloved ring tone she's used ever since her second year of high school, start to fill the silence. 

She dives for the phone and answers it with a simple, “Hi?”

“Uhh,” comes a hesitant female voice from the other end of the line. “Is this Lili?”

Suddenly weighed down by a strange mix of disappointment and relief, Lizzie is about to tell her that, no, this is Lizzie, wrong number, when she remembers that _Lili_ was the alias she picked. “Yes,” she confirms. “Yes, this is Lili. I'm so happy you decided to call me.”

***

As per request, Lizzie books the room as her alias and arrives ahead of time so that all her client has to do at the reception is ask for _Miss Deaves's room_. After careful consideration, she decides not to undress yet, and instead lounges on the large bed reading a magazine she’d nicked from the reception area, her light summer dress exposing nice, but not overwhelming cleavage.Perfectly on time, right on the dot, there's a knock at the door, and Lizzie hops off the bed to answer. 

Her client is a woman about her age, wearing a pantsuit. Her makeup is visible, but discreet, and her hair flows over her shoulder in dark-brown curls. She's beautiful. Definitely not the kind who'd _have to pay for it_. But _that_ , her agent also told her, is seldom what this kind of work is about. Not in their price range, at least. 

“What's your name?” Lizzie asks, making a wide gesture to allow her into the room and the other woman pauses, hesitates, in a way that no one would hesitate about giving their own name. She's picking an alias too, then, a borrowed name just for tonight. 

“Michelle,” she finally says. “I'm Michelle.” 

Lizzie smiles, holds out her hand. “Well then, Michelle. Nice to meet you.” 

Michelle takes it with a small laugh, as if amused by her reaction, and allows Lizzie to lead her further into the room. It's a simple setup: a large bed in the middle of the room, a coffee table with two armchairs in one corner, a folding screen and a small wardrobe in the other, half-hiding the door to an en-suite bathroom. 

The hotel is more upscale than one that is paid for by the hour, but it's still quite obvious that the interior decoration didn't precisely have family vacations in mind. 

Lizzie sits down on the bed, the sheets a bit ruffled from when she's been lounging there earlier, and waits, hands folded in her lap, for Michelle to do the same. 

Michelle doesn't sit down. She stands in the middle of the room, arms crossed in front of her chest, and it occurs to Lizzie that she might be even more nervous than Lizzie herself, despite not sparing any effort to cover that nervousness up and play it down. 

“I have a very specific request,” Michelle says. “It's rooted in trauma, I'll tell you that much, but I don't want you to ask me any questions about what happened. I'm not here for someone to listen or to tell me I'll be okay.” 

She pauses, quirks an eyebrow, and Lizzie inclines her head. “Alright?” 

It wasn't supposed to come out as a question, although it might not be a bad thing, seeing how it prompts a little half smile from Michelle. “Look, you can say no. I won't blame you, and I'll just try someone else.” She finally sits down, although far enough that she doesn't touch Lizzie anywhere, not even by accident. “I want you to blindfold me and tie me up. For the sake of fairness, I'll let you know that I have some bad memories about such a setup, but I promise to you I won't freak out, or lose it, cry, or shake, or the like. That's not what this is about.” She turns towards Lizzie with a questioning expression. “Can you do that? More importantly, do you want to do that?” 

Lizzie takes a moment to roll the idea over in her head. It's BDSM, of sorts, which she did sign up for, and she finds she's okay with it if she can push for some safety measures. “I want you to pick a safeword.” Michelle opens her mouth for a reply, but Lizzie holds up her hand. “I don't care if you have no plans to use it, but I want you to pick one. And I want you to write down the number of someone I can call for you in case this goes south. I don't care who, a friend, a therapist, another kind of physician, whatever. I won't look at the note if all goes smoothly, but I still need you to write it down for me. Is that okay?” 

Now it's Michelle's turn to think those conditions over, albeit she comes to a conclusion much faster than Lizzie. “That's fine. I'm actually glad you're showing concern for my safety.” Her whole demeanor changes on the last words, some of her almost regal poise, of the tension, flowing out of her and changing the way she holds herself. She closes her eyes, her fingers curled around the edge of the mattress. “Your agency said this was your first time. Is that true, or is that a sales tactic?” 

Lizzie grins. “Nope. That's not just a line, I'm really doing this for the very first time.” 

“Good.” Michelle nods, even though Lizzie can't quite work out why that'd be so important. “Then let's get started.” 

***

With her dress, it takes Lizzie about three flicks of the wrist to strip. Michelle's suit takes a little more effort, and she insists on undressing behind the folding screen. Not in the bathroom – behind the folding screen, like they're in a Victorian romance novel. Not like Lizzie minds, as such; there's something incredibly alluring about watching a beautiful woman shed her clothes behind that thing, visible and invisible at the same time, only her silhouette moving through the thin fabric of the screen. That might be the entire point of the thing being here; surely they'd normally be non-transparent, if they weren't used for nefarious purposes like these. 

“Why are you doing this with me? A stranger?” Lizzie asks, out of real curiosity but also to just say _something_ , as she watches Michelle bend to roll her pantyhose down her legs. “Wouldn't it be better to do it with someone you trust?” 

Michelle's movements halt behind the screen, and Lizzie inwardly curses. She might have misstepped; Michelle did tell her not to ask too many questions. But Michelle only sighs, shifting to work on the other leg, and answers, “There are people I trusted. And they betrayed that trust.” 

People. Plural. More than one person. Lizzie tries not to think about the implications of that. She's got to keep the context in mind, here, but if she gets too lost in mulling over what might have happened, she won't be able to do her job. And that job is to make her client feel good. “I'm sorry.” 

“Don't be,” Michelle replies. And then, after a beat. “But I don't want to talk about them. The past is the past, I just need to deal with the memories so I can put them to rest.” 

***

Michelle brought the supplies: a black silken shawl that's supposed to stand in as a blindfold, and leather cuffs that allow her little to no leverage when attached to the bedposts and wrapped around her wrists. They don't look too comfortable and will likely leave marks, but Lizzie figures it's not her place to critique her client's choice of sex toys. 

Laid out on the bed, above the covers, her hair in a loose bun so it doesn't interfere with the cuffs or the blindfold, Michelle is absolutely a sight to behold. She's gorgeous. Her body is lean and strong, and the way her arms are stretched out and bound above her accentuates the curve of her small breasts in just the right way. 

“Should I – “ Lizzie starts, but Michelle makes a displeased noise in the back of her throat. 

“Don't ask,” she says. “Don't tell me what you're about to do, just go ahead and do it.” 

Lizzie bites down on a concerned _are you sure_ but, again, she's no one's therapist and this is what her client wants, so this is what her client gets. She's not requesting anything illegal or beyond Lizzie's stated limits. Her coping methods are her own. 

And it's not like Lizzie minds acting at someone else's behest, making a service out of an encounter, neither is she a stranger to having quite emotional sex with someone she will likely never meet again. She's not paid to care; not when the client explicitly tells her she shouldn't. 

She does care. She can't turn that off. 

She sits down on the bed and leans down, bringing their lips together for a filthy kiss – the least invasive way to test Michelle's resolve, monitor her reactions, make sure she won't get pushed into anything she can't deal with. And she does startle, at first, struggle, her breath catching, but then and kisses back, savagely, equally demanding. When they part, she's panting, turns her head to the side, and it's obvious in her expression that she's shut her eyes. “Please,” she whispers. “Please, do something. _Please._ Make it good. Make me forget.” 

Lizzie's heart jumps at the urgency in her voice, the need. Kneeling down at the end of the bed, she pushes Michelle's legs up and apart, laying her bare to Lizzie's gaze. Experimentally, she drags a finger through her folds – starting to get wet, but not all the way there yet. She spreads the slick that's already there around a little, rubs it all the way down the cleft, and then she pushes her finger a little deeper inside, upwards, careful but with intent, searching, searching... 

The way Michelle arches of the bed with a soft gasp means she's found what she was looking for. She keeps rubbing gently, wanting Michelle to make that noise again, make other noises, more desperate ones, get confirmation that she's succeeding in filling Michelle's mind with pleasure and nothing else. She continues until she's got a few breathy moans out of her, until she's squirming in her cuffs, and then she sits back, thinking. 

They should have talked about this more. She should have insisted. It _seems_ like Michelle wants to be surprised, startled, taken. But there's a thin, dangerous line here, with trauma and flashbacks and all kinds of unpleasant reactions on the other side. Michelle seems determined, but she's put herself in Lizzie's hands. It’s a responsibility that Lizzie accepted, and now she needs to live up to the trust put into her by a complete stranger. 

She sits up and bends forward so she's hovering over Michelle's body, eyes locked on Michelle's face. Her eyes aren't visible, of course, but the way she's craning her neck at every dip of the bed means she must be trying to track Lizzie’s movements, and Lizzie figures it's only fair to give her a hint. She briefly touches Michelle's shoulder as a means of announcing herself before she leans down, her lips closing around a nipple, the nub instantly hardening under her tongue, and she hears Michelle's cuffs rattling as she struggles against the new sensation; in a good way, if Lizzie's not mistaken, because there's also more of these breathy moans, evidence of pleasure. Rewarded as such, Lizzie repeats the same treatment on the other breast, pleased with her work when she sits back again and watches Michelle breathing hard, her stomach muscles quivering. 

Sliding back to the very end of the bed, Lizzie runs her fingertips along the inside of Michelle's left thigh, then her left, coaxing her into opening her legs a little wider voluntarily, rather then pushing them apart again. She lays down onto her stomach, so that her head is at the same level of Michelle's hips, and holds her open with a finger of either side of her opening. She licks a quick stripe all the way along Michelle's cleft, mouth only just brushing past her clit. She waits for an impatient little huff and then gets a finger back inside her while she continues to lavish attention on Michelle’s clit, playing at it with her thumb, pressing her tongue against it. 

Michelle thrashes above her, cuffs clattering violently, and Lizzie looks up to check in on her. There are tears trailing down her face, and Lizzie rubs along her hip in what she hopes is a soothing motion, ready to ask whether they should stop, but she's cut off by Michelle before she can say anything. 

“Don't stop,” Michelle says. “Not right now. Please, please don't stop. Keep going. It's good. I need... I need you to keep doing what you're doing.” 

And so Lizzie returns to her task with renewed vigor, putting two fingers into her at once now, scissoring and crooking them while teasing her clit relentlessly, rubbing it, then swirling her tongue around that little cluster of nerves and changing it up again. 

Michelle doesn't last much longer after that. She comes with a shout, the muscles in her thighs and stomach first going taut, then going completely lax right after. All of her goes quiet, in fact, and driven by a sudden surge of worry, Lizzie lets up on her, climbs off the bed just to sit back down on it higher up, at Michelle's shoulder, so she can take off the blindfold and fish around for keys to the cuffs. 

“Are you alright?” she asks, cupping Michelle's face, and Michelle smiles. It's not an easy smile, it's strained and hard-won, her eyes red-rimmed from crying, but it looks genuine. 

“Yes,” she says, and then, quieter. “Thank you, Lili.” 

Lizzie exhales with relief and smiles back. She opens the cuffs, watches Michelle sit up and rub at her wrists, which have indeed been rubbed to an angry red in places. She wavers with the need to hold her close, offer some simple comfort, but decides that if she's been handed the responsibility to make this good for Michelle, a hug at the end would also be included in the leeway Michelle's given her. 

Once again, Michelle startles, but she almost immediately relaxes into the embrace, melting into Lizzie's arms with a contented sigh. Lizzie gathers Michelle in, strokes her hair, whispers to her, holds her close. There's no need to rush. 

They've booked the room for the whole night.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on [dreamwidth](https://geckoholic.dreamwidth.org/), [tumblr](http://lostemotion.tumblr.com) or [twitter](https://twitter.com/spacenerdz).


End file.
